UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Eugene  E.   Prussins 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

A  Dramatic  Action 

BY 

PERCY   MACKAYE 

SCENE  DESIGN   BY  ROBERT  EDMOND  JONES 
NOTE  ON  PRODUCTION  BY  WALTER  HAMPDEN 


THE  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  MEMORIAL  ASSOCIATION 
WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 


WORKS  BY  PERCY  MACKAYE 


PLAYS      THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS.    A  Comedy. 

JEANNE  D'ARC.    A  Tragedy. 
SAPPHO  AND  PHAON.    A  Tragedy. 
FENRIS,  THE  WOLF.    A  Tragedy. 
A  GARLAND  TO  SYLVIA.    A  Dramatic  Reverie. 
THE  SCARECROW.    A  Tragedy  of  the  Ludicrous. 
YANKEE  FANTASIES.       Five  One-Act  Plays. 
MATER.    An  American  Study  in  Comedy. 
ANTI-MATRIMONY.    A  Satirical  Comedy. 
To-MORROW.     A  Play  in  Three  Acts. 
A  THOUSAND  YEARS  AGO.     A  Romance  of  the  Orient. 
WASHINGTON.    A  Ballad  Play. 

COMMUNITY      CALIBAN.    A  Community  Masque. 
DRAMAS  SAINT  Louis.    A  Civic  Masque. 

SANCTUARY.    A  Bird  Masque. 

THE  NEW  CITIZENSHIP.    A  Civic  Ritual. 

THE  EVERGREEN  TREE.    A  Christmas  Masque. 

THE  ROLL  CALL.    A  Masque  of  the  Red  Cross. 

THE  WILL  OF  SONG  (with  Harry  Barnhart). 

OPERAS      SINBAD,  THE  SAILOR.    A  Fantasy. 

THE  IMMIGRANTS.    A  Tragedy. 
THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS.    A  Comedy. 
RIP  VAN  WINKLE.    A  Legend. 

POEMS        THE  SISTINE  EVE,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

URIEL,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
LINCOLN.    A  Centenary  Ode. 
THE  PRESENT  HOUR.    Poems  of  War  and  Peace. 
•     POEMS  AND  PLAYS.    In  Two  Volumes. 

ESSAYS      THE  PLAYHOUSE  AND  THE  PLAY. 

THE  Civic  THEATRE. 
A  SUBSTITUTE  FOR  WAR. 
COMMUNITY  DRAMA.    An  Interpretation. 

ALSO    (As  Editor) 

THE  CANTERBURY  TALES.    A  Modern  Rendering  into  Prose. 
THE  MODERN  READER'S  CHAUCER   (with  Professor  J.  S.  P. 
Tatlock). 


IMPORTANT  NOTICE 

By  special  permission  of  the  Author,  per 
formances  of  this  Dramatic  Action,  "George 
Washington,"  may  be  given  by  amateurs  free 
of  royalty,  provided  such  performances  are 
enacted  for  the  benefit  of  the  George  Wash 
ington  Memorial  Association,  Washington, 
D.  C.,  on  or  before  June  I,  1920. 

After  that  date  all  performances  are  for 
bidden  unless  permission  therefor  has  first 
been  secured,  in  advance,  from  the  author,  by 
applying  to  him  direct,  at  27  West  44th 
Street,  New  York  City. 

For  further  information  in  regard  to  the 
published  text  of  the  play  and  of  the  ballad 
music,  see  Preface  of  this  volume. 


ttl 

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a: 
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GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

A  DRAMATIC  ACTION 

WITH   A    PROLOGUE 

BY 

PERCY  MACKAYE 


SCENE  DESIGN  BY  ROBERT  EDMOND  JONES 


TOGETHER  WITH 

COMMENTS  AND   SUGGESTIONS  IN  REGARD  TO 

ITS  PRODUCTION,  BY  THE  AUTHOR,  THE 

SCENE   DESIGNER,   AND 

WALTER  HAMPDEN 

FIRST   IMPERSONATOR   OF   THE   TITLE-ROLE   OF   THE 

THREE-ACT     PLAY,      FROM     WHICH     THIS 

ACTION  IS  SELECTED,  ENTITLED 

WASHINGTON, 

THE  MAN  WHO  MADE  Us 

A  BALLAD  PLAY  BY  PERCY  MACKAYE 
PUBLISHED  BY  ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 

BY 
PERCY  MACKAYE 

COPYRIGHT  1920 

BY 
PERCY  MACKAYE 

All  Rights  Reserved 


rs 


PREFACE 


At  the  request  of  the  George  Washington  Memorial  Association, 
through  its  President,  Mrs.  Henry  F.  Dimock,  of  Washington,  D.  C., 
I  am  very  glad  to  place  this  little  volume  at  the  service  of  the  Associa 
tion  with  a  view  to  assisting  its  commemorative  purposes  at  this  time 
throughout  America. 

The  Dramatic  Action  here  printed  is  a  brief  excerpt  only  of  my 

£p   complete  Ballad  Play,  in  three  acts  and  a  prologue,  "Washington: 

*-  The  Man  Who  Made  Us,"  published  by  Alfred  A.  Knopf,  220  West 

42nd  St.,  New  York;  and  this  excerpt  comprises  one  Action   (the 

Ninth)  selected  from  the  fourteen  Actions  contained  in  the  three-act 

o  play. 

By  courtesy  of  the  publisher,  the  plates  of  pages  162  to  191  of 
the  larger  volume  have  been  loaned,  free  of  charge,  to  print  a  thou 
sand  copies  of  this  book,  for  distribution  by  the  George  Washington 
^Memorial  Association  to  various  communities  for  use  until  the  first 
'  v  day  of  June,  1920.    After  that  date,  if  further  copies  of  the  text  are 
*£  desired,  inquiry  should  be  made  of  the  publisher;  if  permission  to 
5  perform  it  is  desired,  application  should  be  made  direct  to  the  author, 
f\  at  his  address  below,  where  it  is  requested  that  two  copies  of  the 
^   program  and  press  notices  of  all  performances,  at  any  time  given, 
i  *    be  forwarded  to  him.     In  all  such  programs  the  following  Note  is 
^*    to  be  printed,  at  the  head  of  the  Cast  of  Characters :    "This  Dramatic 
l^.    Action,  'George  Washington,'  is  the  Ninth  Action  selected  from  the 
complete  play,  'Washington,  The  Man  Who  Made  Us,'  by  Percy 
^    MacKaye,  published  by  Alfred  A.  Knopf,  220  West  42nd  St.,  New 
°    York.    For  sale  by  all  book  sellers." 

t  At  the  present  date  announcement  has  been  made  to  the  public 

3    that  Mr.  Walter  Hampden  will  present  my  complete  play  for  the 

first  time,  on  Washington's  Birthday,  1920,  at  the  Belasco  Theatre, 

Washington,  D.  C.,  himself  enacting  the  part  of  George  Washington 

in  the  scenic  production  of  Mr.  Robert  Edmond  Jones. 

By  the  public  in  many  parts  of  America  Mr.  Hampden's  dis 
tinguished  acting  in  the  title  roles  of  "The  Servant  in  the  House," 
"Hamlet,"  and  very  recently  "The  Wayfarer"  (under  the  auspices 


279536 


of  the  Interchurch  World  Movement),  has  been  greatly  welcomed 
as  comparable  to  the  noblest  traditions  of  his  profession;  and  the 
abounding  gifts  of  Mr.  Jones  as  a  creative  artist  of  the  theatre  have 
been  notably  recognized  in  his  scenic  productions  of  "Redemption," 
"The  Jest,"  "Caliban,"  and  "The  Birthday  of  the  Infanta." 

With  a  view  to  assisting  the  simplification  of  amateur  produc 
tions  of  this  Action  of  my  play,  both  of  these  artists  associated  with 
its  professional  production  have  written  their  Comments  and  Sug 
gestions  with  my  own,  printed  on  the  pages  immediately  following 
the  dramatic  context. 

The  music  and  words  of  the  ballad  introductory  to  this  Action 
("The  Raggle  Taggle  Gypsies"),  as  well  as  the  ballads  with  music 
included  in  the  complete  three-act  Ballad-Play,  may  be  obtained  from 
the  H.  W.  Gray  Company,  publishers  of  music,  2  West  45th  St., 
New  York — the  ballad  of  this  Ninth  Action  being  illustrated  by 
Dorothy  Fuller  (of  the  Fuller  Sisters),  the  other  ballads  by  Arvia 
MacKaye. 

My  complete  play,  "Washington,"  from  which  this  Action  is 
taken,  I  began  to  write  at  Washington,  D.  C.,  in  December,  1917, 
and  completed  at  Shirley  Centre,  Massachusetts,  on  July  4th,  1918. 
Though  it  had  long  been  partially  projected  in  my  mind,  yet  the 
human  meanings  illumined  by  our  entrance  into  the  Great  War,  and 
the  world  relationships  implied  by  that  vast  decision,  were  compelling 
incentives  for  me  to  undertake  and  bring  the  play  to  completion, 
setting  during  that  time  all  other  matters  aside. 

To-day,  George  Washington — dead — is  for  most  people  a  figure 
remote,  statuesque,  dignified,  cold,  almost  mythical;  one  to  be  re 
vered,  but  not  warmly  loved.  But  in  his  own  day — alive — he  was 
a  magnetic  human  being,  passionate,  patient,  resourceful — a  rugged 
personality,  lovable  and  greatly  beloved. 

It  has  been,  then,  my  aim  so  to  portray  him  in  his  strong  prime, 
with  truth  to  reality,  that  we  of  America  to-day  may  be  led  to  feel 
a  more  intimate  affection  for  "the  man  who  made  us,"  and  for  the 
still  contemporary  cause  which  he  espoused  for  mankind. 

PERCY  MACKAYE. 


Harvard  Club, 

27  West  44th  St.,  New  York; 
January  20,  1920. 


CHARACTERS 

OF  THE  PROLOGUE 

VOICES  OF  THE  PEOPLE  (chanting,  unseen,  or  vaguely 
suggested ) 

A  TOWN  CRIER  (Quilloquon) 
A  BALLAD  SINGER   (Quilloquon) 
A  LITTLE  BOY 
A  LITTLE  GIRL 


OF  THE  DRAMATIC  ACTION 

THOMAS  PAINE 
LIEUT.  JAMES  MONROE 
GEN.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON 
COL.  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 
"THE  FIGURE" 

The  sound  of  a  flute  (QuiUoquon's) 

Voices  of  men  (outside) 

[For  the  costuming  of  these  characters  of  the 
Prologue  and  Action,  and  for  the  lighting  of  the 
scene,  see  the  Comments  and  Suggestions  at  the 
back  of  this  volume.] 


PLACE    AND    TIME:     By    the   Delaware    River,    above    Trenton; 
Christmas  Night,  1776. 

SCENE:     An  Opening  amid  snow-laden  Woods  by  Moonlight, 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

A  DRAMATIC  ACTION 


TX1TV3  -ACTA-  PROBAT 

PROLOGUE 

(PARTS  i  AND  2) 

The  stage  is  shut  off  from  the  audience  by  simple  blue 
curtains,  closed  where  they  meet  at  the  centre. 
Behind  the  curtains  a  far-off  bell  is  heard  ring 
ing,  with  musical  cadence.  Now  its  tone  changes 
to  a  deep,  mellow  pealing;  and  now  its  rhythmic 
cadence  is  blended  with  far-sounding  chimes, 
through  which  low  murmurous  VOICES  of  many 
people  rise,  fall  and  rise  again  more  loud — like  a 
great  wind,  heard  distantly,  over  forest  trees. 

At  first  hardly  audible,  the  deep  murmur  grows  grad 
ually  more  articulate,  till — between  the  pulsing 


162  WASHINGTON  [Acr  II 

chimes — occasional  words  and  phrases  emerge 
distinguishable,  above  this  flowing  utterance  of 
the  chanting  VOICES: 

THE   VOICES 

'When,  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes 
necessary  for  one  people  to  dissolve  the  political 
bands  which  have  connected  them  with  another, — 

'And  to  assume  among  the  powers  of  the  earth  the 
separate  and  equal  station  to  which  the  Laws  of  Na 
ture  and  of  Nature's  God  entitle  them, — 

'A  decent  respect  for  the  opinions  of  mankind  re 
quires  that  they  should  declare  the  causes  which  impel 
them  to  the  separation.' 

[As  the  murmurous  Chant  lessens  to  a  lull, 
there  is  heard  a  single  Voice  intoning  "Oyez!" 
and  the  blue  curtains  are  seen  to  have  parted 
slightly  at  the  centre,  discovering — against  a 
background  of  dark — the  Figure  of  a  Town 
Crier,  holding  in  his  left  hand  a  staff  to  which  is 
attached  a  lantern,  and  of  which  the  heraldic  top 
is  a  hatchet-blade. 

THE  CRIER  holds  near  the  lantern  in  his  right 
hand  a  paper  broadside,  from  which — after  call- 
ing  his  Preamble — he  reads  aloud,  intoning  with 
the  voice  of  QUILLOQUON:] 

THE  CRIER 
[QUILLOQUON] 
Oyez!     Oyez!     People  of  America,  hear  ye! 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  163 

This  day,  in  the  town  hall  of  Philadelphia,  duly 
convened, — this  day  in  the  year  of  our  Lord,  One 
Thousand,  Seven  Hundred  and  Seventy-Six, — being 
the  Fourth  day  of  July — forevermore,  unto  all  peo 
ples,  declareth  the  Assembly  of  our  people: 

'We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident: — that  all 
men  are  created  equal, — that  they  are  endowed  by 
their  Creator  with  certain  unalienable  Rights, — that 
among  these  are  Life,  Liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  Hap 
piness, — that  to  secure  these  rights,  Governments  are 
instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just  powers  from 
the  consent  of  the  governed. 

'That  whenever  any  form  of  Government  becomes 
destructive  of  these  ends,  it  is  the  Right  of  the  People 
to  alter  or  to  abolish  it. 

'And  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  evinces  a  design 
to  reduce  them  under  absolute  Despotism, — it  is  their 
right,  it  is  their  duty  to  throw  off  such  Government, — 
and  to  provide  new  Guards  for  their  future  security. 

'Such  has  been  the  patient  suffrance  of  these  Col 
onies. 

'Our  repeated  petitions  have  been  answered  only 
by  repeated  injury. — A  Prince,  whose  character  is 
thus  marked  by  every  act  which  may  define  a  Tyrant, 
is  unfit  to  be  the  ruler  of  a  free  people. — 

(We,  therefore,  The  Representatives  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  in  General  Congress,  Assembled, 


164  WASHINGTON  [ ACT  II 

— appealing  to  the  Supreme  Judge  of  the  world  for  the 
rectitude  of  our  intentions, — do,  in  the  Name,  and  by 
the  authority  of  the  good  People  of  these  Colonies, — 
solemnly  Publish  and  Declare, 

'That  these  United  Colonies  are,  and  of  Right  ought 
to  be, — Free  and  Independent  Stales! 

'And  for  the  support  of  this  Declaration,  we  mu 
tually  pledge  to  each  other — our  Lives,  our  Fortunes 
and  our  sacred  Honour.' 

[As  the  TOWN  CRIER  concludes,  a  BOY  and  a 
GIRL  run  in  from  either  side,  raising  their  hands 
toward  the  paper  broadsides,  from  one  of  several 
copies  of  which  he  has  been  reading. 

Handing  to  each  a  copy,  he  raises  his  lantern- 
staff,  and  as  they  run  off,  right,  he  follows,  call 
ing  aloud:] 
Oyez!     Oyez!     People  of  the  Ages, — hear  ye! 


(Part  3) 

In  the  distance,  THE  CRIER'S  repeated  call  of  "Oyez!" 
is  dying  away  on  the  right,  when  on  the  left  a 
fiddle  begins  to  play  the  melody  of  a  ballad- 
tune,1  during  which  the  visible  dim  space  be 
comes  palely  luminous  with  a  swirling  greyness, 
as  of  snowflakes  beginning  to  fall. 

1  The  melody  of  'Raggle-Taggle  Gypsies.' 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  165 

And  now — the  fiddle  having  ceased — to  a  thrumming 
of  the  same  tune  upon  strings,  three  tattered 
greyish  forms  enter  from  the  left:  the  two  Chil 
dren  and  a  Man,  who  is  playing  a  dulcimer. 

All  three — recognizable  once  more  as  THE  BOY, 
THE  GIRL  and  QUILLOQUON — come  singing  the 
ballad-tune  words,  which  they  act  out  in  their 
pantomime,  severally  assuming  the  parts,  in  sim 
ple  ballad  fashion,  of  the  characters  their  song 
refers  to — Lord,  Lady,  Servants  and  Gypsies. 

THE  THREE  FIGURES 
[QUILLOQUON  AND  THE  CHILDREN] 
*There  were  three  gypsies  a-come  to  my  door, 

And  down-stairs  ran  this  a-lady,  0! 
One  sang  high  and  the  other  sang  low, 

And  the  other  sang  Bonny,  bonny  Biscay ,  0! 

[THE  GIRL] 

'Then  she  pulled  off  her  silk-finished  gown 
And  put  on  hose  of  leather,  0 ! 

[THE  BOY  AND  QUILLOQUON] 

'The  ragged,  ragged  rags  about  our  door — 
She's  gone  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0! 
[THE  LITTLE  GIRL  runs  off  right.] 

[THE  BOY] 

*  'Twas  late  last  night  when  my  lord  came  home, 
Inquiring  for  his  a-lady,  0. 


166  WASHINGTON  [Acx  II 

The  servants  said  on  every  hand: 

She's  gone  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0! 

[QuiLLOQUON  turns  and  addresses  THE  BOY.] 

[QUILLOQUON] 

'Come,  saddle  to  me  my  milk-white  steed, 

And  go  and  fetch  my  pony,  0! 
That  I  may  ride  and  seek  my  bride, 

Who  is  gone  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0 ! 

[The  two  run  off,  right. 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL  alone  enters  immediately., 
left,,  followed — to  the  thrumming  of  the  dul 
cimer — by  THE  BOY,  who  remains  near  his  place 
of  entrance  and  sings. 

While  he  does  so,  QUILLOQUON  enters,  passes 
him,  and  advances  toward  THE  GIRL,  looking 
about,  seeming  at  first  not  to  see  her.] 

[THE  BOY] 
"Then  he  rode  high,  and  he  rode  low, 

He  rode  through  wood  and  copses,  too, 
Until  he  came  to  an  open  field, 

And  there  he  espied  his  a-lady,  0! 

[QUILLOQUON,  approaching  the  GIRL,  with  as 
pect  of  lordly  severity.] 
'What  makes  you  leave  your  house  and  land? 
What  makes  you  leave  your  money,  0 ! 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  167 

What  makes  you  leave  your  new-wedded  lord, 
To  go  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0 ! 

[THE  GIRL] 

'0,  what  care  I  for  my  house  and  land? 

What  care  I  for  my  money,  0? 
What  care  I  for  my  new-wedded  lord? 

I'm  off  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0 ! 

[The  falling  snow  flakes  grow  thicker  and  the 

scene  more  dim.] 

[QUILLOQUON] 
'Last  night  you  slept  on  a  goose-feather  bed, 

With  the  sheet  turned  down  so  bravely,  0! 
But  to-night  you'll  sleep  in  a  cold  open  field, 

Along  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0! 

[THE  GIRL] 
'0,  what  care  I  for  a  goose-feather  bed, 

With  the  sheet  turned  down  so  bravely,  0 ! 
For  tonight  I  shall  sleep  in  a  cold  open  field — 

Along  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0!' 

{With  a  swift,  proud  gesture  of  departure,  lift 
ing  her  last  song-note  to  its  octave  higher,  the 
little  GIRL  goes  off,  right,  with  steps  of  gladness, 
while  QUILLOQUON — in  crestfallen  grandeur — 
strides  off  with  the  BOY,  left. 

The  GIRL'S  voice,  however,  has  hardly 
ceased,  and  QUILLOQUON  has  not  yet 


168  WASHINGTON  [AcT  II 

peared,  when  a  Man's  Voice  is  heard  singing 
through  the  dim  whirling  snowfall:] 

THE  MAN'S  VOICE 

[Sings  huskily.] 
*0,  what  care  I  for  a  goose-feather  bed, 

With  the  sheet  turned  down  so  bravely,  0! 
For  tonight — I  shall  sleep  in  a  cold  open  field 

Along  with  the  raggle-taggle  gypsies,  0!' 

[Then  suddenly  the  VOICE  speaks,  with  sharp 
staccato.] 
Who  goes  there? 


NINTH  ACTION 

The  Man's  Voice  breaks  in  a  raspy  fit  of  coughing. 

While  he  has  sung,  the  blue  curtains  have  drawn  back 
'  to  the  width  of  the  full  stage-aperture,  revealing 
the  Singer  himself — a  Sentinel,  in  ragged  Ameri 
can  uniform,  standing  in  the  night  near  a  low- 
burning  camp-fire  (left). 

The  snow  has  ceased  falling.  The  fire  dimly  lights  by 
its  gleam  a  space  surrounded  by  vaguely  dis 
cerned  walls  of  snow-laden  woods,  except  in  the 
background.  There — between  boles  of  trees, 
rising  like  columns  of  grey  ice — an  arch-like 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  169 

opening  gives  glimpses  of  struggling  moonlight 
and  gusty,  grey-black  darkness,  through  which  a 
low,  muffled  thudding  and  crackling  murmur 
rise  occasionally  to  the  ear. 

Holding  for  a  moment  his  musket  poised,  the  Sentinel 
looks  off  (left),  listening.  Then,  lowering  his 
gun  and  turning  to  the  fire,  he  crouches  by  it, 
blows  his  fingers,  takes  from  within  his  tattered 
coat  a  little  book,  holds  it  open  near  the  firelight 
and  begins  writing  in  it. 

While  he  does  so,  through  the  glooming  aperture  in 
the  background,  the  tall,  silhouetted  form  of 
WASHINGTON,  in  long  military  cloak,  his  hands 
gripped  behind  him,  is  seen  to  pace  slowly  past 
and  disappear  (right). 

The  SENTINEL  stops  writing,  gesticulates  to  himself, 
muttering;  then  reads  aloud  from  his  book. 

THE   SENTINEL 

'0  ye,  that  love  mankind!  Ye  that  dare  oppose 
not  only  tyranny  but  the  tyrant,  stand  forth!  Every 
spot  of  the  Old  World  is  overrun  with  oppression. 
Freedom  hath  been  hunted  round  the  globe.  0,  re 
ceive  the  fugitive,  and  prepare  in  time  an  asylum  for 
mankind!' 

[Coughing  slightly,  he  stares  a  moment  in  the 
fire:  then  writes  again. 

In  the  background,  the  dim  form  of  WASH- 


170  WASHINGTON  [Acr  II 

INGTON,  returning,  paces  past  and  disappears, 
left. 

Half  rising  now  from  his  crouched  posture, 
the  SENTINEL  reads  again  from  his  book  in  the 
firelight,  with  gesture  as  of  ardent  conversation 
with  another.] 

'To  see  it  in  our  power  to  make  a  world  happy,  to 
teach  mankind  the  art  of  being  so,  to  exhibit  on  the 
theatre  of  the  universe  a  character  hitherto  unknown, 
and  to  have,  as  it  were,  a  new  creation  entrusted  to 
our  hands, — are  honours  that  command  reflection.' 

[Closing  his  book,  he  looks  intently  in  the 
night.  Then  suddenly,  dropping  the  book,  he 
seizes  up  his  gun,  leaps  to  his  feet  and  calls  out:] 

Who  goes  there? 

THE  MAN'S  VOICE 
[Answers  from  outside,  left.] 
Merry  Christmas! 

THE   SENTINEL 

Merry  Christmas,  yourself! 

[A  MAN  limps  wearily  in,  through  a  gap  in 
the  snow-covered  evergreens.  The  firelight  re 
veals  him  also  forlornly  clad  in  ragged  regi 
mentals.  The  SENTINEL  half  lowers  his  gun.] 

What's  your  name,  and  allegiance? 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  171 

THE    MAN 

Lieutenant  James  Monroe,  of  the  United  States. 

THE    SENTINEL 

[Saluting — a  bit  slouchily,  like  a  civilian.] 
'Which  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  inde 
pendent!'     Pass,  Lieutenant  Monroe,  in  the  name  of 
our  immortal  Declaration. 

MONROE 

Immortal,  Sir,  let  us  hope,  but  ought  to  be  isn't  are 
by  a  long  shot — whatever  Mr.  Jefferson  hath  immor 
tally  declared  for  us. 

[Sitting  on  a  rock  by  the  fire,  he  examines  his 
foot.] 

THE    SENTINEL 

[Bending  over  him.] 

Lord,  lieutenant,  your  foot's  bloody — bleeding  bad! 
Here,  wait  a  minute. 

[Tearing  a  strip  from  his  own  regimentals,  he 
kneels  down  beside  MONROE.] 
You  need  bandaging. 

MONROE 
Thanks,  friend.     We  all  do — in  this  uniform. 

[Behind  them  the  shadowy  form  of  WASHING 
TON  paces  past  again,  and  noiselessly  disappears. 

While  the  SENTINEL  is  stooping  over,  wrap 
ping  his  companion's  foot  in  bandages,  MON- 


172  WASHINGTON  [Acx  II 

ROE'S   hand — resting   on   the   book — raises    it. 
Glancing  curiously  at  the  open  page,  he  mut 
ters:] 
Hello,  what's  here? 

[The  SENTINEL  looks  up  an  instant,  but  goes 
on  immediately  with  his  occupation.  MONROE 
reads  aloud:] 

"These  are  the  times  that  try  men's  souls.  The 
summer  soldier  and  the  sunshine  patriot  will,  in  this 
crisis,  shrink  from  the  service  of  his  country;  but  he 
that  stands  it  now  deserves  the  love  and  thanks  of 
man  and  woman.  Tyranny,  like  hell,  is  not  easily 
conquered.' 

[Turning  to  the  front  of  the  book,  he  looks 
closely  and  reads:] 

"Tom  Paine:  His  Note  Book." — Great  Caesar! 
Where  did  this  come  from? 

THE   SENTINEL 

From  a  hater  of  Caesar — out  of  my  breast  pocket, 
Sir. 

MONROE 

Yours!  You — Thomas  Paine,  the  author  of  "Com- 
monsense"? 

PAINE 

Unauthorized  by  His  Majesty:  that's  me. 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  173 

MONROE 

[Rising  and  saluting.] 

Why,  Sir,  permit  me  to  salute — the  Revolution! 
Tis  a  privilege  to  meet  Public  Opinion  face  to  face. 

PAINE 

You  meet  just  a  sentinel  at  his  post,  Sir.  'Tis  a 
privilege  of  serving  Liberty,  to  inquire:  "Who  goes 
there?" 

MONROE 

Your  inquiry  will  burn  the  ears  of  kings  till  their 
doomsday,  Mr.  Paine.  Your  challenge  rings  over  the 
Atlantic.  For  my  part,  I  should  like  to  see  it  made 
the  Atlantic  doctrine — No  passing  for  Old  World 
tyrants  this  side  of  the  world! 

PAINE 

And  why  not  doctrine  for  t'other  side,  too,  Mr- 
Monroe? 

MONROE 

[Sitting  again.] 

Well,  Sir, — a  touch  of  modesty.  I  administer  my 
doctrine  by  the  dose — half  a  world  at  a  time. 

PAINE 

Not  me,  lieutenant.  My  mother  didn't  bear  me 
modest,  nor  twins;  so,  following  her  maternal  exam 
ple,  I  never  give  birth  to  a  principle  by  hemispheres. 


174  WASHINGTON  [Aer  II 

MONROE 

[Holding  one  foot  and  twinging.] 
Well  and  good,  Mr.  Paine,  but  hadn't  we  better 
confine  our  universal  dreams  to  gypsy  camps — con 
sidering  our  style  of  bed  tonight? 

PAINE 

[Humming  the  words. ,] 
*0,  what  care  I  for  a  goose-feather  bed 

With  the  sheet  turned  down — ' 
{Breaking  off  with  a  short  laugh.~\ 
Ha!     "Raggle-taggle":  that's  the  tune  of  Revolu 
tion,  Sir. 

MONROE 
[Wearily.] 

Oh,  I  don't  know!  There's  times  I  almost  think  we 
deserve  goose-feathers — and  tar,  too — for  such  loy 
alty  as  ours. 

PAINE 
[Sharply.] 

What's  that!  Is  that  your  ripe  judgment  of  our 
cause? 

MONROE 

No,  Sir,  not  ripe — just  rotten.  I'm  dog-tired — 
tired  of  failure.  The  game's  up!  We  know  our 
dreams — but  look  at  the  facts. 

PAINE 

Well— what  facts? 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  175 

MONROE 

Listen ! 

[He  pauses  a  moment.} 
You  hear  that  sound? 

[They  both  listen  in  silence. 
Shadowy   in   the   background,   the  form  of 
WASHINGTON  re- passes  and  disappears.} 

PAINE 
You  mean  the  river  there — the  ice  rattling? 

MONROE 

Yes :  the  death-rattle  of  our  rebellion.  I  mean,  that 
Delaware  river  can  tell  our  story.  That's  us — the 
American  army.  Last  summer,  what  were  we?  The 
warm,  quick  stream  of  our  country's  passion,  welling 
like  hot  blood,  pouring  out  of  the  hills — the  turbulent 
current  of  a  continent.  And  now,  in  December, — 
what  now,  ha?  That's  us — out  there:  a  death-cold 
stream,  congealing  while  we  move:  a  current  choked 
up  with  the  ice  of  its  own  broken  heart — any  hour  to 
be  buried  under,  gone,  stone-cold  as  this  river  bank 
tonight. 

PAINE 

[Humming,  as  he  fondles  his  musket.} 
Tor  tonight  I  shall  sleep  in  a  cold  open  field' — 

[Speaking.} 
And  those  facts,  Lieutenant?     Skip  the  metaphors. 


176  WASHINGTON  [Aer  II 

MONROE 

Facts,  Sir?  The  facts  are  disaster  and  retreat.  At 
Brooklyn  Heights — failure,  retreat;  New  York — the 
same;  Fort  Washington,  Fort  Lee — lost,  both;  the 
Hudson — lost;  and  here  now  for  months  in  Jersey — 
ignominious  retreat:  deserters,  dropping  off  like  rats 
from  a  wreck:  militia  without  honour;  officers  without 
obedience;  a  Congress  that  votes  battalions,  but  no 
money — and  this  nearly  two  years  since  Bunker  Hill! 
So  here,  Mr.  Paine,  this  Christmas  night,  while  the 
German  hirelings  are  rum-drinking  over  the  river 
there  in  Trenton — these  are  the  facts:  To  expel  from 
America  His  Majesty's  twenty-five  thousand  regulars, 
stuffed  with  plum  pudding — here  we  are:  twenty-four 
hundred  retreating  frozen-bellied  gypsies! 

PAINE 

[Quickly.] 
And  one  general. 

MONROE 

[Rising  slowly,  speaks  with  quiet  emotion.] 
Aye,  Sir — one  general.     After  all,  for  us,  I  guess 
that's  the  only  fact.     For,  if  needs  be,  we'll  follow 
that  one  the  gypsy  path  to  hell. 

PAINE 

[With  a  gesture  of  silence,  points  to  the  back- 
ground.] 
Shh! 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  111 

[Silently,  once  more,  in  dim  silhouette,  the 
form  of  WASHINGTON  paces  past  and  is  gone. 
For  a  moment,  they  stand  watching,  motionless. 
Then  MONROE  speaks,  under  his  breath.] 

MONROE 
Him? — Is  this  camp-fire  his? 

PAINE 

[Nodding.] 
I'm  his  sentinel  here. 

MONROE 

1  bear  a  dispatch  to  him. 

PAINE 

Not  now:  not  for  half  an  hour.     That's  my  orders. 
He's  thinking.     He  thinks — alone. 

MONROE 

And  walks  like  that? 

PAINE 

Sometimes.     Sometimes  he  just  stands — like  a  tree 
— all  night. 

MONROE 
What,  and  sleeps — standing? 

PAINE 
Not  sleeps,   I  guess;  though  often  his  eyes  are 


279536 


178  WASHINGTON  [ ACT  II 

closed.     He    calls    it, — taking    his    cat-naps.     And 
sometimes  he  takes  'em  walking. 

MONROE 

Walking! 

PAINE 
Like  we  saw — there. 

MONROE 

[Taking  out  a  folded  paper. ~\ 
But  this  dispatch,  Mr.  Paine? 

PAINE 

Follow  me,  Sir:  I'll  take  you  to  Colonel  Hamilton- 
Since  the  General  met  him  in  New  York,  he's  made  a 
son  of  him. — He's  over  yonder,  with  General  Knox. 

MONROE 

[Taking  Paine9 s  hand  in  the  dim  light,  follows 
him,  limping.] 

Some  future  Christmas,  Mr.  Paine,  we  must  resume 
our  fireside  conversation  on  the  doctrine  of  hemi 
spheres. 

PAINE 

Hemispheres? — No,  Sir:  give  me  globes! 

[fhey  disappear  in  the  darkness. 
After  a  moment — pacing  past  again  in  the 
background — the  huge  form   of  WASHINGTON 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  179 

pauses,  comes  slowly  down  half  way  to  the  fire 
and  stands  there. 

In  long  military  cloak,  three-cornered  hat,  and 
great  boots,  his  hands  still  clutched  behind  him — 
his  posture  is  erect  as  an  Indian. 

Around  his  throat  is  a  piece  of  woollen  cloth. 

His  eyes  are  intently  fixed,  his  lips  compressed 
with  painful  tightness. 

He  remains  perfectly  motionless. 

Vaguely  the  sounds  of  wind  and  river-ice 
deepen  the  silence  of  their  pausings. 

Soon,  from  the  right,  very  quietly,  the  slight 
small  form  of  a  young  Man  comes  into  the  gleam 
of  the  fire.  He  is  in  uniform,  shabby  but  borne 
with  alert  distinction.  He  passes  over  to  the  fire 
and  waits  there. 

As  he  crosses  the  gaze  of  WASHINGTON,  the 
eyes  of  the  latter  follow  him  and  continue  to  look 
at  him  for  a  moment,  before  he  speaks  in  a  tone 
hoarse  with  cold.] 

WASHINGTON 

Ah !     Hamilton — you  ? 

HAMILTON 

Yes,  your  Excellency. 

WASHINGTON 

Are  the  boats  secured? 


180  WASHINGTON  [Acr  II 

HAMILTON 

Yes,  your  Excellency. 

WASHINGTON 

All? 

HAMILTON 

Yes,  Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Murmurs.] 
Ah! 

[Slowly,  he  begins  to  pace  again. 

HAMILTON  waits,  near  the  fire. 

Soon  WASHINGTON  speaks  again,  abrupt.] 
Oh!     Alexander! 

HAMILTON 

What,  Sir? 

WASHINGTON 

You  dispatched  my  letter  to  Mt.  Vernon? 

HAMILTON 

To  Lady  Washington:     Yes,  Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Murmuring  low,  as  he  paces.] 
You're  a  good  boy — you're  a  good  boy — 

[After  a  moment,  pausing  again,  he  speaks 
with  staccato  sharpness.] 
Well?— Well?     Your  report! 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  181 

HAMILTON 

This  message,  by  Lieutenant  Monroe,  from  General 
Gates  at  Bristol.  Shall  I  read  it,  Sir? 

WASHINGTON 

No :  give  me  the  gist. 

HAMILTON 

General  Gates  has  received  your  orders.  He  un 
derstands  it  is  your  plan  to  strike  the  Hessians  tonight 
at  Trenton,  with  five  co-operating  divisions,  com 
manded  severally  by  yourself,  himself,  Generals 
Ewing,  Putnam  and  Griffin.  Accordingly,  he  has  dis 
patched  General  Cadwalader  to  the  river. 

WASHINGTON 

Well? 

HAMILTON 

General  Cadwalader  has  looked  at  the  river. 

WASHINGTON 

Has  he!— Well? 

HAMILTON 

He  considers  the  floating  ice  impassable — 

WASHINGTON 

Considers! — 

HAMILTON 

The  chances  desperate,  and  he  is  gone  back  to 
Bristol. 


182  WASHINGTON  [Acx  II 

WASHINGTON 

Gone  back  to  Brimstonel     Let  him  sit  there  and 
broil  his  rump! — What  else? 

HAMILTON 

Another  message  from  General  Gates,  by  Captain 
Wilkinson. 

WASHINGTON 

We  are  twice  favoured. — Well? 

HAMILTON 

General  Gates  himself  has  set  out  for  Philadelphia, 
to  inform  Congress — 

WASHINGTON 

Inform  Congress — what  of? 

HAMILTON 

That  he  disapproves  your  plan,  and  cannot  co 
operate. 

WASHINGTON 

Ah! 

[After  a  pause.] 
What  further  messages? 

HAMILTON 

From  General  Putnam,  at  Philadelphia. 

WASHINGTON 

[Quickly. ] 
What's  Put  say? 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  183 

HAMILTON 

He  regrets  his  division  cannot  march  tonight. 

WASHINGTON 

[Slowly.] 
Old  Put  says  that.— Well!     —Next? 

HAMILTON 

General  Ewing  regrets  the  ice,  but  will  try  whatever 
seems  most  practical — in  the  morning. 

WASHINGTON 

Try!     He'd  better  try  lard.,  and  fry  in  his  own  fat! 
That's  practical  for  corn  pone — ha! — in  the  morning! 
[WASHINGTON'S    features    contract,    and   he 
gnaws  fiercely  the  edge  of  his  hand,  before  speak 
ing  again.] 

So:  that  makes  three  divisions  time-stalled — use 
less. 

[He  glances  slowly  at  HAMILTON.] 
And  the  fourth — ? 

HAMILTON 

General  Griffin  sends  word — 
[He  pauses.] 

WASHINGTON 

What  are  his  regrets? 


184  WASHINGTON  [Acr  II 

HAMILTON 

He  regrets  his  necessity  to  abandon  New  Jersey 
altogether. 

WASHINGTON 

[Lifting  off  his  hat,  raises  it  high  aloft.] 
Jehovah,  God  of  chariots!     And  this  is  the  thunder 
of  Thy  captains! 

[Dashing  his  hat  to  the  ground,  he  grinds  his 
boot  upon  it.~\ 

Blithering  skulkgudgeons!     These  are  my  fighting 
generals! 

[An  immense  shudder  wrenches  his  body. 
Controlling  a  sharp  spasm,  his  face  grows 
marble.     Stooping,  he  takes  up  the  crumpled  hat 
and  holds  it  in  silence;  then,  slowly  turning  his 
look  from  the  hat  to  HAMILTON'S  face,  he  speaks 
with  tense  quiet.] 
Alexander:  not  a  word  of  this!     You  understand? 

HAMILTON 

Not  a  word,  your  Excellency. 

WASHINGTON 

Your  report,  Sir,  is  satisfactory.     At  midnight,  oui 
division  will  cross  the  Delaware — alone. 

HAMILTON 

[With  quiet  emotion.] 
Nay,  Sir:  not  alone. 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  185 

WASHINGTON 

I  said — ours  alone.  What  other  forces  are  left  to 
attend  us? 

HAMILTON 

The  Ages,  your  Excellency:  the  forces  that  prevail 
over  river  barriers:  there,  Sir,  still  flows — the  Rubi 
con. 

WASHINGTON 

[Hoarsely.} 

Nay,  my  boy — not  so  classic.  The  Delaware  will 
do,  for  tonight.  'Tis  no  Caesar  stands  in  my  boots. 

[With  smouldering  fire,  that  dartles,  flames 
and  then  bursts.] 

But  'tis  Caesar,  I  reckon,  who  camps  over  there  with 
his  legions:  a  Caesar,  hog-latin  from  Hanover,  who 
would  make  the  Atlantic  his  channel — who  hires  his 
own  German  breed  to  help  suppress  English  freedom 
in  both  England  and  America,  making  his  chancellors 
his  apes  and  his  commoners  his  minions.  I'd  rather 
you  called  me  Hannibal-in-a-cocked-hat  than  such  a 
Hessian  Roman! 

HAMILTON 

I  am  well  corrected,  Sir.  I  cannot  gainsay — the 
cocked  hat. 

[With  swift  ardour,  going  near  to  him.] 

But  oh,  my  dear  General,  I  want  you  only  to  know 
my  utter  conviction  of  this  night! 


186  WASHINGTON  [Aer  II 

WASHINGTON 

[Looking  at  him — slowly. ,] 
Your  conviction,  son? 

HAMILTON 

This  night  is  the  beginning  of  the  world. — Darkness 
was  over  the  face  of  the  deep,  and  He  said,  "Let  there 
be  light!" 

WASHINGTON 

[Murmurs. ,] 
And  there  was  light. 

HAMILTON 

And  there  was  light! 

WASHINGTON 

Without  form  and  void — and  after  that — light  and 
order. 

HAMILTON 

Order — and  organic  structure:  a  new  world — a 
new-builded  unity — a  new  self-government  above  war 
ring  tribes — a  commonwealth  above  kings — and  its 
name,  America! 

WASHINGTON 

You  are  young — and  you  have  seen  it. 

HAMILTON 

[Ardently. J 
I  see  it,  Sir! 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  187 

WASHINGTON 

I  am  getting  old — but  I  too  have  seen  it — darkly. 
Old  eyes  and  young  must  work  together,  boy.  Will 
finds  its  way. 

HAMILTON 

And  the  will  is  here. 

WASHINGTON 

Ah?— Where? 

HAMILTON 

[With  a  reverent  smile.] 
Under  that  crumpled  hat,  Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Smiling     back    faintly — speaks,     after    a 
pause.] 
The  boats  are  ready? 

HAMILTON 

On  the  face  of  the  deep. 

WASHINGTON 

Over  there — no  crossing  back.  Over  there — are 
the  looted  homes  of  freemen,  and  the  German  loot 
ers — keeping  the  birth  of  Christ,  there.  Over  that 
water,  my  boy,  is  our  final  stake:  'tis  fight  to  a  finish. 

HAMILTON 

And  fight — for  the  beginning:  our  commonwealth 
above  kings! 


188  WASHINGTON  [ACT  II 

WASHINGTON 

In  the  beginning — there  was  a  word  spoken — a 
watchword — and  the  stars  held  their  watch  ever  after. 

[From  the  distance,  on  the  right,  a  single  faint 
bugle-note  is  heard.] 

HAMILTON 

0  Sir,  yes!  Our  watchword:  the  men  are  waiting 
for  it. 

WASHINGTON 

[Mutters,  looking  off.} 
No  stars  yet  tonight! 

HAMILTON 

[With  fervour.} 

You  will  give  it,  Sir — you  alone.  I'll  go  tell  them. 
This  pad,  Sir:  write  it  on  this;  I'll  return  in  a  moment 
%nd  get  it.  I  beg  of  you,  Sir, — the  watchword! 

[Handing  to  WASHINGTON  a  little  pad  of 
paper,  HAMILTON  goes  swiftly  off  in  the  dark 
ness,  right. 

Left  alone,  WASHINGTON  continues  muttering 
to  himself.} 

WASHINGTON 

Above  warring  tribes.  Out  of  the  void — a  form. 
And  there  was  light  of  stars — and  order.  Void,  and 
then — victory! 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  189 

[Slowly — his  lips  still  murmuring — he  begins 
to  pace  back  and  forth,  his  hands  clutched  behind 
him. 

While  he  does  so,  out  of  the  night,  a  low,  flute- 
like  music  plays  softly  the  air  of  'Raggle-taggle 
Gypsies.' 

As  the  melody  ceases,  WASHINGTON  pauses  (at 
the  left)  by  the  tree-bole,  that  forms  there  a  col 
umn  for  the  arch-like  opening  of  snow-crusted 
evergreens. 

From  there — as  he  moves  again  slowly  down 
to  the  log  by  the  fire,  and  sits  there,  holding  the 
little  pad  in  his  left  hand — he  is  followed  from 
behind  by  a  dim-robed  FIGURE  in  red,  its  face 
cowled  in  deep  shadow,  its  arms  crossed  in  large 
folds  of  its  dark  garment. 

Pausing  for  a  moment  behind  him,  where  he 
sits,  the  FIGURE  bends  above  him  in  the  firelight. 

Reaching  a  shadowy  arm,  it  touches  with  its 
right  hand  the  right  hand  of  WASHINGTON,  poised 
with  a  pencil  to  write. 

At  the  touch,  once  more,  faintly  a  bugle  is 
heard,  the  hand  of  WASHINGTON  writes,  and  the 
bugle-note  dies  away  as  the  FIGURE  steals  silently 
back  to  the  centre  of  the  snowy  arch. 

WASHINGTON  does  not  move  or  speak;  but  now, 
from  the  right,  low  voices  are  heard  and  HAM 
ILTON  reappears.  Glimpsed  with  him  for  a  mo 
ment  are  the  forms  of  Tom  Paine  and  two  or 


190  WASHINGTON  [Acr  II 

three  others  in  regimentals,  who  retire  at  a  ges 
ture  from  HAMILTON. 

Approaching  WASHINGTON,  HAMILTON  is  about 
to  speak,  but  checks  himself  at  the  other's  intent 
posture  of  absorption — his  open  left  hand  hold 
ing  extended  the  little  pad. 

Seeing  this,  HAMILTON — drawing  closer — 
glances  at  it  in  the  firelight,  and  reads:} 

HAMILTON 

[Murmuring  low.} 
Victory  or  death. 

[Then,  swiftly  in  silence  returning  toward  the 
dimness,  right,  he  speaks  in  vibrant  tone:} 
Victory  or  death! 

[As  he  disappears,  the  Voice  of  TOM  PAINE 
answers  from  farther  off:  "Victory  or  death!" 

Still  farther,  then,  in  the  distance,  other  Voices 
call  faintly  to  each  other:  "'Victory  or  death!" 

These  Voices  have  hardly  ceased,  when  once 
more  a  far  bugle  is  heard. 

WASHINGTON  stirs  slightly,  clutching  his  hands 
before  him. 

Now  the  bugle  is  answered  by  another,  and  in 
the  arched  middleground,  the  DIM -RED  FIGURE 
in  the  Cowl  quivers  with  deepening  colour. 

WASHINGTON  tightens  the  great  joints  of  his 
hands,  and  breathes  heavily. 


ACT  II]  WASHINGTON  191 

And  now,  through  the  dark,  increasingly,  the 
upblowing  notes  of  bugles  begin  to  rise,  like 
irises  of  sound.  And  as  they  rise,  the  grey 
of  gust-blurred  moonlight  in  the  background 
clears  to  a  pallid  blue,  which  deepens  and — fill 
ing  swiftly  with  stars — takes  on  a  glowing  inten 
sity  of  azure. 

Against  this  sky  of  stars,  impanelled  by  the 
shadowy  arch,  the  red  of  the  cowled  FIGURE 
looms  and  dilates  with  the  sanguine  richness  of 
flame. 

And  now  the  bugles — as  many  as  the  stars — 
magnify  their  blaring  notes  to  a  martial  revelry 
of  music,  crashing  the  dark  with  their  silver  and 
brazen  peals. 

Staring  upward  in  the  midst  of  this  sound  and 
the  colour  behind  him,  WASHINGTON  starts  to  his 
feet  in  the  foreground — both  arms  upraised  in  a 
gesture  immense  and  terrible — his  voice  break 
ing  with  sharp  joy,  as  he  cries  hoarsely  aloud:] 

WASHINGTON 

Victory!     Lord  God  of  battles — victory! 


END   OF   ACT   II 


COMMENTS  AND  SUGGESTIONS 

I.— NOTE   ON  PRODUCTION 
By  Walter  Hampden 

Necessarily  these  hints  are  merely  of  the  slightest,  in  the 
hope  that  each  group  presenting  this  episode  will  contain  some 
one  person  of  the  requisite  imagination  and  skill  to  develop 
and  supplement  them.  This  consideration  leads  at  once 
to  the  all  important  one  of  direction.  Choose,  by  all  means, 
a  stage  director,  either  from  your  own  group,  or  an  amateur 
or  professional  coach  in  whose  judgment  you  can  place  con 
fidence.  He  it  is  who  will  have  to  sense  the  effect  of  the 
whole:  to  unify  the  lighting,  the  scene,  the  atmosphere, 
the  mood  of  the  acting,  into  one  complete  harmony. 

The  first  suggestion  to  him  is  to  read  the  text  without  s 
analysis  and  try  to  catch  his  early  strong  impressions.  Let 
him  hold  these  and  not  depart  from  them.  They  will 
form  the  base  of  his  work.  With  some  thought  and  quiet 
meditation  they  will  flower  into  the  essentials  which  will 
stimulate  his  imagination  to  the  discovery  of  all  the  organic 
details. 

Casting  the  parts  is  also  important.  Do  not  be  too 
realistically  historical.  Appearance  for  the  role  is  a  sec 
ondary  consideration.  If  it  happens  to  go  along  with  things 
of  more  importance,  power  to  project  personality  and  the 
illusion  of  character,  so  much  the  better.  Departures  from 
age,  stature,  looks  and  voice  are  not  of  primary  consequence. 
If  there  be  an  exception  it  is,  of  course,  in  regard  to  the 
actor  of  Washington.  Washington  is  so  much  a  part  of 
the  visual  memory  of  the  people  of  this  country  that  it  is 
wise  to  favor  physical  suitability  in  this  instance.  The  main 
elements  to  base  a  choice  upon  are  audibility  of  voice,  dis 
tinctness  of  enunciation,  vitality  and  responsiveness  of  tem 
perament,  and  that  personal  quality  that  spells  character, 
by  which  I  mean  that  sympathetic  capacity  to  feel  it  and 
exhibit  it. 

Think  of  contrasts  of  type  for  Paine  and  Monroe;  the 


latter  bluff,  moody,  low-toned;  Paine,  keen-eyed,  with  an 
incisive  utterance,  and  intellectual  enthusiasm.  Hamilton 
must  impart  a  distinct  sense  of  confident  youth,  so  as  to 
offset  the  heroic  and  mature  Washington.  Quilloquon  may 
be  almost  anything  that  is  racy  of  the  soil,  provided  he  be 
mellow  and  colorful.  He  should  typify  generations  of  retro 
spect  and  have  a  spring  in  his  step  and  an  alertness  of 
glance  that  suggest  his  relation  to  ages  yet  to  come.  Though 
he  has  music  to  sing,  remember  his  rendition  should  not  be 
operatic,  but  instinct  with  character.  Let  him  keep  to  the 
time,  yet  half  speak  the  song.  Any  clever  boy  and  girl, 
not  prettified,  can  pantomime  sufficiently  for  the  two  chil 
dren. 

It  would  be  idle  to  indicate  stage  mechanics — they  are 
so  adaptable  to  conditions  of  place  and  person.  The  dia 
logue  is  supplemented  with  numerous  directions  explanatory 
of  the  author's  intention,  and  Mr.  Jones'  design  for  the 
scene  is  replete  with  suggestion. 

Viewing  this  action  as  a  whole,  it  stands,  coldly  lighted 
and  deeply  shaded,  enwrapped  by  the  solemn  bracing  at 
mosphere  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  Quilloquon 's. 
ballad  sets  in  fanciful  way,  with  its  wistful  gaiety  and  plain 
tive  charm,  the  serious  mood  of  the  action  to  follow.  This 
action  again,  before  Hamilton's  entrance,  has  a  lighter  qual 
ity  than  after,  so  let  Monroe  not  be  ponderous  in  his  de 
pression  and  let  him  and  Paine  keep  this  early  part  of  the 
scene  cheery  with  the  "gameness"  of  an  invincible  optimism. 
Emphasize,  however,  those  details  of  business  which  indi 
cate  cold  and  physical  suffering.  The  passage  where  they 
note  Washington  as  he  passes  to  and  fro  in  background 
must  not  be  heavy  in  tone,  but  rather  weighted  by  pauses, 
otherwise  their  play  will  detract  from  the  force  of  Wash 
ington's  method  in  the  later  part  of  the  scene. 

For  the  actor  of  Washington,  I  would  merely  suggest 
that  he  do  as  little  as  possible.  Repose  will  give  him 
strength  and  a  reduction  of  facial  play  and  gesture  to  a 
minimum  will  aid  to  render  him  heroic — and  a  hero  in  the 
fullest  sense  he  must  be  without  theatrical  strut  or  pose. 

A  final  word  for  Mr.  Director:  Don't  try  to  fix  your 
methods  of  expression  upon  your  actors,  for  they  won't  fit. 
Imprint  your  conception  on  their  minds,  inspire  them  with 
your  enthusiasm,  hold  them  together  by  authority  of  under- 


standing  rather  than  by  discipline.  Foster  the  growth  of 
your  ideas  in  them  and  their  own  as  well,  and  eliminate  as 
much  detail  as  possible.  There  is  always  the  one  expres 
sive  detail  which  implies  all  the  rest.  Seek  it. 


II.—  NOTE  ON  COSTUMES  AND  LIGHTING 
By  Robert  Edmond  Jones 

Use  a  white  floor-cloth.  In  the  illustration  bare  trees 
are  suggested  by  strips  of  cloth  dyed  dark  grey  and  hanging 
in  vertical  folds  from  above  the  line  of  sight.  They  are 
touched  with  white  where  they  meet  the  floor.  Behind 
them  the  floor-cloth  is  draped  over  a  flat  board  cut  in  the 
silhouette  of  a  low  hill;  behind  this  again  is  a  straight  blue 
curtain  or  cyclorama. 

Paine,  Monroe,  Washington  and  Hamilton  wear  regi 
mentals  of  buff  and  blue,  stained  and  ragged,  and  three- 
cornered  hats.  Washington  also  wears  a  military  cloak 
and  great  boots.  The  dress  for  THE  FIGURE  suggests  by 
the  varying  folds  of  its  material,  both  the  Adams  Memorial, 
by  Saint  Gaudens  (in  the  Rock  Creek  Cemetery,  Washing 
ton,  D.  C.),  and  the  figure  of  the  Prophet  Hosea  in  the 
frieze  by  Sargent,  in  the  Boston  Public  Library.  Its  face 
should  be  completely  hidden.  The  color  of  the  robe  is 
the  red  of  the  stripes  of  the  American  flag,  which  in  the 
finale  is  seen  in  combination  with  a  sky  of  blue,  which  is 
the  blue  curtain  brightly  lighted. 

The  lighting  of  the  scene  is  the  most  important  element 
of  the  production.  For  this  scene  there  are  two  kinds  of 
light  contrasted  with  each  other:  firelight  and  cold  blue 
moonlight.  The  fire  is  suggested  in  this  way:  Half-burned 
logs  of  wood  heaped  together  so  as  to  conceal  electric  bulbs 
dipped  in  yellow,  red  and  blue,  rightly  proportioned.  No 
footlights;  no  borderlights  in  the  foreground;  hidden  spot 
lights  of  dim  cold  blue  shining  obliquely  down  on  the  white 
floor-cloth  ;  a  spot-light  of  red  to  strike  THE  FIGURE  in  the 
center.  Rear  border-lights  in  blue  and  a  strip  of  blue 
lights  c»ncealed  behind  the  hill  to  shine  on  the  sky  curtain. 
These  last  (for  the  sky  and  THE  FIGURE)  must  be  ar 
ranged  on  "dimmers"  or  otherwise  to  grow  gradually 
brighter  and  brighter  at  the  end  of  the  scene.  The  sky- 


cloth  is  perforated  with  tiny  holes;  behind  each  perforation 
is  an  electric  "star."  The  stars  are  used,  of  course,  only 
at  the  end  of  the  scene.  Or  the  stars  may  be  more  simply 
rendered  by  small,  three-pointed  pieces  of  tinsel  pinned  to 
the  curtain,  unseen  until  the  moment  of  illumination. 

Necessarily  these  notes  are  merely  hints.  All  will  depend 
on  who  makes  use  of  them.  They  are  meant  as  suggestions 
to  local  producers  of  imagination,  who  will  use  or  discard 
them  according  to  their  own  discretion. 


III.— NOTE  ON  INTERPRETATION 
By  Percy  MacKaye 

Concerning  the  production  of  this  Dramatic  Action  by 
amateurs,  I  would  add  only  these  brief  comments  (on 
certain  details  of  interpretation)  to  those  of  Mr.  Hampden 
and  Mr.  Jones. 

The  bell  and  the  chimes  in  the  beginning  should  be 
mellow  in  tone,  and  should  be  carefully  rehearsed  so  as  to 
be  a  subordinate  undertone  to  the  chanting  of  the  Declara 
tion,  itself  an  effect  which  should  be  rendered  under  direc 
tion  of  one  whose  ear  is  sensitive  to  the  right  cadencing  and 
rhythm  of  chanted  poetry. 

Quilloquon,  as  the  Town  Crier,  while  differentiating  his 
acting  and  voice  from  those  of  the  singing  Ballad  Singer 
(his  second  appearance)  yet  remains  always  the  balladist, 
and  should  render  his  clear-spoken  quotation  from  the 
Declaration  with  the  rhythmic — but  not  metrical — utterance 
of  spoken  poetry. 

For  "the  Raggle-Taggle  Gypsies"  Quilloquon  is  dressed 
in  old-time  home-spun  eighteenth-century  garb,  weather  worn 
with  a  touch  of  gypsy  color;  the  children  in  simple  smocks, 
also  weather  worn,  bare-footed,  their  hair  not  curled  but 
very  simply  nautral. 

In  regard  to  the  dim-robed  Figure  at  the  finale  of  the 
Action  (which  represents  the  elemental  symbol  of  human 
liberty,  still  cowled  and  but  shadowly  revealed)  the  stage 
direction  on  page  189  reads:  "Reaching  a  shadowy  arm,  it 
touches  with  its  right  hand  the  right  hand  of  Washington." 

This  is  incorrect  and  should  not  be  done.  THE  FIGURE 
must  not  touch  Washington  physically  but  must  indicate, 


with  serene  majestic  gesture,  that  its  power  dominates  the 
action  of  Washington  and  dictates  the  action  of  his  arm  and 
hand  in  writing  the  watchword. 

Neither  should  THE  FIGURE  move  from  the  back  nearer 
to  the  audience  than  to  the  middleground,  nor  approach 
close  to  Washington,  but  should  dominate  from  behind — by 
the  height  of  its  great-robed  stature — his  seated  form  in 
the  foreground.  For  this,  of  course,  an  actor  of  great  pro 
portions  (a  man,  not  a  woman),  endowed  with  majesty 
and  quiet  grace  of  gesture,  should  be  selected. 

In  the  final  blare  of  bugles  sounding  outside,  the  volume 
of  sound  should  never  be  so  loud  as  to  suggest  realism,  the 
climax  of  the  crescendo  must  be  reached  before  Washington 
speaks  in  the  instant  of  silence  immediately  following  it, 
so  as  not  to  drown  or  blur  the  articulation  of  the  actor  of 
Washington,  in  his  hoarse  cry  of  "Victory!  Lord  God  of 
battles,  victory!"  In  this  respect,  do  not  let  the  words 
"crashing  the  dark,"  in  the  printed  stage  directions  on  page 
191,  mislead  the  stage  director  to  create  an  actual  roaring 
loudness  of  sound:  the  stage  directions  do  not  intend  a  real 
ism  of  noise;  they  intend  to  suggest  a  rising  crescendo  of 
music  always  far-sounding  as  in  a  dream,  and  never  obtru 
sively  loud. 

Of  course — and  especially  for  performances  by  amateurs 
— it  goes  without  saying  that  this  final  vision  and  music  of 
the  Action  cannot  be  rightly  achieved  without  expert  equip 
ment  in  lighting  apparatus  and  lighting  directorship,  as  well 
as  patient  rehearsal.  Without  such  expert  equipment  and 
rehearsal,  the  visionary  portion  of  the  finale  would  better  be 
omitted  altogether,  rather  than  risk  a  mawkish  or  tawdry 
light-effect  which  would  negate  or  cheapen  the  acting  and 
the  emotion  of  the  scene.  In  case  the  visionary  part  be 
omitted,  then  the  final  effect  must  depend  on  appeal  more  to 
the  ear  than  to  the  eye,  rendered  by  means  of  the  right 
cadencing  and  interval-spacing  of  the  off-stage  voices,  in  their 
murmured  diminuendo  of  "Victory  or  death,"  the  last  repeti 
tion  of  which  (in  any  case)  is  the  cue  for  the  final  speech  of 
Washington. 


By   Percy   MacKaye 

WASHINGTON 

THE  MAN  WHO  MADE  US 

A  Ballad  Play 


"Mr.  MacKaye  has  given  us  in  this  work  a  new  form  for  the  theatre, 
for  which  we  must  be  grateful ;  but  beyond  and  away  above  the  form  in 
importance  stands  the  play  itself.  Here  we  have  something  worthy  of  our 
country." — New  York  Tribune. 

"By  a  striking  invention,  the  author  is  able  to  carry  his  story  along  with 
out  halting,  and  at  times  to  fuse  both  past  and  present." — New  York  Sun. 

"In  intent  and  spirit  it  is  wholly  admirable,  sturdily  American,  broad- 
minded,  fervid  in  maintaining  the  principles  of  liberty  and  brotherhood  for 

mankind." — The  Nation. 

"Mr.  MacKaye  has  conceived  a  work  that  upon  historical  background 
shows  the  trend  of  the  momentous  happenings  of  today  and  gives  a  glimpse 
of  the  import  of  the  future." — New  York  Telegraph. 

Of  Alexander  Hamilton,  as  depicted  in  Mr.  MacKaye's  play  "Wash 
ington,"  Dr.  Allan  McLane  Hamilton,  his  grandson,  writes  in  a  letter  to 
the  author:  "No  one  has  ever  grasped  Hamilton's  character  as  have  you." 

"Percy  MacKaye  has  done  the  thrilling  job  of  giving  us  in  Washington 
a  magnetic,  passionate,  resourceful,  lovable  human  being." — Everybody's 
Magazine. 

"Why  has  George  Washington  never  been  'starred'  on  the  American 
stage?  The  most  impressive  and  dramatic  figure  of  our  history,  the  First 
Citizen  has  never  authoritatively  had  the  boards  till  now  in  the  ballad  play 
of  Percy  MacKaye." — Samuel  Hopkins  Adams,  in  Collier's  Weekly. 


With  six  scene  designs  by  ROBERT  EDMOND  JONES 


$2.00  net — at  all  bookshops 
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